


The Hart, the Hind, and the Hound

by Corycides



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: AU, Multi, Orgy Armada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4985725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Crown Prince of Underhill stole Charlie Matheson's little brother away, she stopped at nothing to get him back. Except the fey don't stop playing until they win, and if they have to they'll change the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hart, the Hind, and the Hound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Penndragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penndragon/gifts).



> Family Curse - Charlie/Miles/Bass

Family Curse - Charlie/Miles/Bass

Charlie Matheson had never believed in fairies. The child of rational parents, she had never been encouraged to indulge in make-believe. Christmas presents came from your parents, why would a rabbit want painted chicken eggs, and the only thing at the bottom of the garden was a rather ill-tempered possum that she should leave alone.

Unfortunately, the fairies believed in the Mathesons. Charlie was 20 when a troupe of fey had stolen her brother away, luring him into Underhill with a set of pointy, scented boobs, a wink, and a promise. When she got him back, she was still 20 - not one birthday will you miss, they'd promised - but it was a fey 20. The girl who had arrived in Underhill had postgrad applications and Jason Neville's kiss in her head, the one who stood on the cracked stone of the Sluagh court had fought a dragon and lost a friend.

She knew the rules of Underhill now, but a shadow worry in the alleys of her mind whispered that she had forgotten those of the world left behind.

'You have your brother,' Monroe, the sullen prince of the sluagh court, said. He waved a gloved hand at the human standing at his left, lean and deadly in black and steel. 'And I have mine. There are those who would call this...fair.'

The idea made him smirk. Monroe was beautiful in the brutal, elegant way of the fey, with a clever mouth and the untroubled eyes of someone who had tendered their soul out for safe-keeping. He had sent the fey who stole her brother, scarred and tormented her, but he had saved her life too. The edged whim of the fey, and a relic of the changeling boy who had grown up loving the Mathesons.

She licked her lips and tasted blood. Winning Danny had nearly killed her, cracked bones and torn nails aching, but it was her begging that had brought Miles back here. His whiskey brown eyes were haunted. Humans had to keep their souls tethered to their bones. Charlie had never asked what it cost to leave the first time - because she didn't know she should, at first, and then because she was scared of the answer - but she didn't think he could scrape together the deposit on freedom again.

'I said I came to rescue my family,' she said. Her voice was tired, raspy and cracking, and the mellifluous monsters wriggled and shuddered with glee at the echoes of it. Charlie squared her shoulders and pointed at Miles with her chin. 'He's my family too.'

Applause skittered through the hall. Charlie's story was, she had been given to understand, a great favourite among the fey, eager to while away the boredom of immortality with someone else's misfortunes. Even Monroe was staring at her the way he did sometimes, like she held secrets he wanted to scoop out of her chest with his fingers.

Miles shifted, boots scraping the stone, 'Charlie,' he said, 'Don't do this.'

'Too late,' Monroe said, resting his chin in the cup of his hand. He was still focused on Charlie. 'She's done it. Even Underhill time doesn't run backwards...often.'

Miles took a ragged breath and dropped to his knee, one hand gripping the heavy silk of Monroe's cloak. 'Then you,' he said. 'Brother, don't do this. I will swear anything you want, but let the girl go. She was never meant to be part of this.'

'That's what makes her so interesting,' Monroe said. He twisted his fingers in Miles' dark hair, pulling his head back to drop a deep, obviously not fraternal kiss on the upturned mouth. There was something inevitable about the way Miles sank into the kiss, hand coming up to grip Monroe's broad shoulder. When Monroe lifted his head, Miles' eyes were closed and he looked lost. 'And you have sworn oaths you broke before, brother. A new set of chains are needed.'

He pushed himself up from his bramble and bone throne, ignoring the way the sharp edges caught at his clothes, and stalked across the space between them. Charlie braced herself, but the hand under her chin was almost gentle. The hook of his knuckle tipped her head back until she had to look up at him.

'It won't be the same trial, of course,' he murmured. The goblins and dark things that filled his court made an eager sound at this new twist and clustered closer. Charlie opened her mouth to protest, but he dropped silence onto her tongue before she could get the words over her lips. The magic sat in her mouth like a stone, choking her as she tried to spit it out. Monroe stepped back, flapping his cloak dramatically. 'Charlotte Matheson, you have proven the mortal constancy of your heart to the fey courts. Now show us what you have learnt from the fey, contest with me for my brother - your uncle's - heart.'

When Charlie finally managed to spit the spell out, it took the form of a beetle and skittered away. She wiped her mouth on her hand. 'My weapons were taken by your guards,' she said. 'If we are going to fight, I want my sword.'

It was Monroe's grin that made Charlie wonder if she was deeper out of her depth than she'd already assumed she was. He was his mother's child in many ways, with the sun-shadow curls of the Summer Queen and her eyes, but his grin was Puck's, wild and gleeful. It made him look human. Just for a second.

'That isn't the sort of sword I was thinking about,' he said. Pulling her close he dropped his hand to the tight curve of her backside and breathed the shadowy magic of dark places over her lips. 'If you want my brother, Charlotte, you have to win him away from me.'

Sometime between the first word and the last, Charlie realised her hands were pressed against a broad, cool chest and a hard cock was nudging her thigh. Monroe was naked, she was healed, and it was that sort of sword, she realised.

Miles dragged them apart, making Monroe laugh and taunt him about jealousy. It was a cruel echo of the way Charlie teased Danny, the jab of it sharpened to a killing point. Monroe had taken Miles back gladly, but he hadn't entirely forgotten or forgiven him for leaving.

The distraction gave Charlie a second to pull her wits together. Miles was naked too, paler than Monroe and carrying more scars on his body. Charlie was the only one still dressed, torn jeans belted with a Dryad's kiss and ragged shirt patched with a fey duke's silken favour. She wasn't standing in the middle of the Sluagh court anymore, though, after all she'd bled to get there. They were in a shadowy stone room, the cold fey fire doing nothing to banish the chill, with a huge bone and bramble bed in the middle of it.

You'd bleed for fucking on that bed.

'You don't have to do this, kid,' Miles rasped, turning his back on Monroe. He dragged up that sloping, half-bothered grin for her. 'You saw the hole I was living in before. Maybe I am better off in Underhill. I was a better killer than I ever was a barman.'

'That's up to you,' Charlie said. She crossed her arms and set her jaw stubbornly. 'I won't leave you chained.'

Monroe laughed and slung a tanned arm over Miles' shoulder from behind, chewing his claim into Miles' throat with teeth that could have opened his jugular as easily. 'Maybe later,' he said. One hand caught Miles' sword-thickened wrist. 'You always came well in silver. Do you remember?'

A shudder ran through Miles and his throat moved as he swallowed hard. Between his thighs, his cock twitched and thickened in the nest of dark hair at the memory.

'She's my niece, Bass,' he ground out, eyes averted from Charlie. 'She's human. You can't ask her to-’

Curling his arm over Miles' sharp hips, Monroe slid his hand under Miles' cock. He lifted it like a jeweller displaying a ring, laid out across his palm as Miles swore roughly at all of it.

'Is that it, Charlotte?,' he asked, voice dark with the secrets he had stolen from her. Once upon a dark mistake. His thumb ran along the shaft of Miles' cock, trailing along the line of a vein. 'Does the thought of touching your uncle's cock disgust you?'

Charlie was surprised to find that it didn't, not really. She was daunted at the idea of a seduction, not at the idea of seducing Miles. She had been Underhill too long. The idea of making a fool of herself pinched worse than incest.

Besides, he was beautiful, her uncle. Not the cut, decorative perfection that was Monroe, all muscle and fine bones. Miles was lean and deadly as a hound, rangy muscles stretched tight over under scarred skin. He moved like he'd been made to kill, and the thought of making that groan the way Monroe just had...

She tilted her chin defiantly at the Sluagh prince and crossed the floor to join them. Miles snarled one last command for her to 'go away', then she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. It was a bit too uncertain to be as flagrantly claiming as Monroe's branding earlier, but it definitely wasn't familial.

Her tongue in his mouth melted whatever protests Miles' had left. He growled under his breath and grabbed the back of her neck, twisting long blonde curls around his fingers. His kiss shoved its way into her, crushing her lips and stealing her breath. Rough hands, scarred and sword marked, explored her curves through her clothes.

For a second she had the heady thought she'd won already, then Monroe curled his fingers around Miles' cock and squeezed, making Miles throw his head back and moan. The long tendons in his throat were tight under his skin, a flush spreading up his throat.

Monroe laughed and pressed his lips against Miles' ear, murmuring something that made the man shudder and snap his eyes open to give Charlie a glazed, hungry look. It was dauntingly obvious that this was a competition Charlie was ill-suited to win. That was Underhill: the deck wasn't just stacked, it was actually a knife in disguise.

That had always been the truth though, and Charlie hadn't let it stop her winning yet. She ran her fingertips over Miles' stomach, muscles lean and hard as stone, and pressed wet, sweet kisses to the flat buds of his nipples. His chest hitched when she nipped, teeth pinching the tender flesh, and he gave a choked laugh.

'One of you is going to win a corpse,' he said raggedly.

'No,' Monroe said, kissing his shoulder. 'I will never let you die.'

The words struck the charged air of the room like stones, rippling dread through the chill. It gave Charlie, her hair trailing over her uncle's chest, pause, but it was too late for second thoughts. It always had been, since she first went look for her lost, never talked about uncle for help to find her lost brother.

On the blood-fed bed, the two of them battled for the attention of Miles' body. Charlie's fingers exploring his cock, tracing the ridges and lines of it. Monroe's hand between his ass cheeks, fingers probing deep enough to make Miles arch his back and grind out the name Monroe had as that changeling boy.

'Bass,' he panted. 'Sebastian.'

There was a purity to the tone of his voice, something that took the name and made it almost a prayer. Almost. Monroe laughed and caught Charlie's wrist, dragging her down into a hard, Miles' tasting kiss over his body.

'Do you think I am winning?' he taunted, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood.

That distracted him for a second, eyes catching on her lips as he leaned back to watch her bleed. He couldn't take it. You couldn't take anything in Underhill, everything had its price. Charlie gave him a defiant look and wiped the blood from her lip with her thumb, painting the sweet copper of it over Miles' mouth. He licked it absently, swallowing the taste of her.

'I think you are my family's curse,' she told Monroe bitterly. 'And you already lost once to me.'

She slid down the bed and wrapped her bloody lips around Miles' cock, tasting human musk and the faint, wintergreen tartness of Monroe's hand. Her tongue trailed along the underside of it, to the sharply cut head and the drops of come that she drank down.

Miles arched up into her mouth, twisting his fingers into her hair. 'Charlie,' he said, and that sounded like a prayer too.

'He likes teeth,' Monroe said.

'No I fucking don't,' Miles growled.

Long, white fingers curled under Miles chin and tilted his head down, blue eyes and dark watching Charlie. Monroe's low, harsh voice murmuring dark, sensual descriptions of Charlie's mouth and tongue and what she might do with them next.

Some of the ideas made Charlie flush with a mixture of lust and embarrassment, hiding it under her hair. Monroe was considerably more inventive than she was, apparently. It was a shame she couldn't take his suggestions without risking giving him the upper hand. She crawled up the bed instead, straddling Miles' hips with her wet pussy pressed against his stomach. Leaning forwards, her hair trailing over his chest and catching in Monroe's fingers, she pressed a kiss to his lower lip.

'I want this,' she told him. 'I know what I'm doing.'

It was the truth, one of them at least. The other she wasn't sure about yet. 

Miles brushed his thumb over her jaw. 'I was damned a long time ago, kid,' he said. 'I just didn't want to take you with me.'

'Hey,' Charlie protested. 'I am great company.'

He laughed, the sound catching him by surprise, and rolled them over. The thorn filigree on the headboard raked his arm open, blood running freely down through his fingers. It was Monroe who guided Miles' cock into Charlie, cool fingers clever against her wet flesh. When she wrapped her legs around Miles' hips, her heels caught against Monroe's thighs as he fucked Miles.

It had never been easy to hate him. Charlie had managed it for months, but there had always been that little thread of understanding that wove its way through the righteous ire at him kidnapping her family. They had nothing else in common, but they both loved Miles. It made this, a tangle of limbs and sweat and magic that prickled the soul, confusing.

Later on, she could worry about that. For now, Charlie let the thrumming ache in the pit of her stomach carry her thoughts away. She spread her thighs and lifted her hips, already aching with the length of him in her but wanting more.

It wasn't sweet, or nice, or awkward. None of the things the first time with a new lover was meant to be. It was hard, it left marks, and all three of them had spent too long Underhill to care. Hammered into the mattress, each thrust that stretched her wide scattering her thoughts like rice, Charlie clung to Miles' shoulders and the steady, cozening croon of Monroe's encouragement.

Her toes curled into the ragged furs, gripping the thorny stems of the bed, and she bit Miles shoulder and raked Monroe's back. She smelled blood on the air, rich as coffee and chocolate, and the small pain shoved Monroe into a shuddering, brutal orgasm that ground Miles down into Charlie. His cock slid so deep into her that it hurt, but it was still worth it. He was hers - maybe?

Her body didn't care about doubt. She came undone, her nerves strummed to the point where even pleasure was a little bit of pain. Her body clenched around Miles cock, fluttering spasms that wrung his release from him.

'Gotta tell you, kid,' he rasped against her throat, heavy body suddenly lax on top of her. His jaw was rough against her skin. 'I think I am a bad influence.'

She ran her fingers through his scruffy hair and thought about the girl she'd been, all judgement and self-righteousness. Maybe there were people who'd think the woman she was, in bed with her uncle and his best friend, could do with a bit of judgement, but she'd survived the Hunt and the sweetness of Titania's court.

'Maybe I needed a few bad influences,' she said.

It was Monroe who untangled them, peeling them apart and finding the edges that had gotten blurred. He kissed Miles into heavy, restless sleep - mouth heady as whiskey and poppies - and picked Charlie up out of the bed. 

Months that WEREN'T technically months of enmity tensed her muscles, but she was unarmed and naked. To win Danny back she'd put herself at the mercy of Monroe's whim and the obligations of guest rights. So she just gave up and let him carry her into what turned out to be a woodland grotto that was, apparently, a high-ranking fey's version of a bathroom.

He bathed them both in the crystal clear pond, assiduous in an oddly ritualistic way as he worked his way from her hair to between her legs. His fingers slid inside her, setting shockwaves through her body of something that could have been pleasure or pain and was just too much to process right now.

She arched up into his touch, fingers sliding deeper and the heel of his hand pressing against her flesh, and whimpered a protest at the same time.

'I won,' she said. Not because she had, but the truth in Underhill belonged to the one who got to it first and protested the loudest.

'A draw,' Monroe countered. 'At best. I should have taken you in the first place, my Charlotte. My little warrior. You're more Matheson than the boy.'

And because she had always wondered, Charlie lay back and let him pleasure her. Once he was done, and she'd reassembled her idea of her body from the treacle he'd left her, she kissed her way down his wet, hard body. The distant cruel humour she associated with him faltered under her mouth, the ragged sounds of want not bothering to try and be something else.

He didn't taste of anything but spunk and sweat when he came. She swallowed and stood up, water chilling around her calves.

'That...' She started, stopped and tried again. 'I still want Miles' free to make his own choice. Do you really want him if he is only here for not having a choice, Sebastian?'

The fey answer, of course, was 'yes'. It was a not even subtle appeal to the boy he'd pretended to be, once, and she didn't even expect it to work. Yet Monroe's smoke and ice eyes looked almost gentle as he stroked her hair back from her face.

'I will let him go tomorrow if he wants, although then he can never return,' he said. 'Give me tonight though, Charlotte, before we start fighting again. Come to bed.'

So she did, curling up around Miles as if it was him who needed her. Monroe shifted and squirmed until he managed to find some position that laid claim to them both. As she slid into sleep she felt him playing with her hair.

'The Underworld won a queen for only six seeds,' he said. 'Underhill has more usurious rates of interest, Charlotte.'


End file.
